


11:11

by spaceburgers



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Bars and Pubs, Blow Jobs, M/M, think notting hill but more of a disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceburgers/pseuds/spaceburgers
Summary: Thursday is indie music night at the bar, and Ryouta can't stop staring at the lead singer of this one band.





	1. Chapter 1

As with most of the bad decisions he’s made in his life, it starts with Moriyama.

Specifically, it starts when he decides to quit his job as an accountant and become the owner of a bar instead, because sometimes Ryouta thinks Moriyama never quite grew out of the idea that he’s secretly the protagonist of an indie rom-com movie.

They’re having dinner one day, just about two months after the bar’s grand opening. Ryouta’s in a terrible mood – he spent his morning getting stalked halfway across Ginza by a pair of particularly enterprising paparazzi, and contrary to popular opinion, threatening someone with a lawsuit is actually not even the least bit fun.

So Ryouta’s telling Moriyama the story, getting visibly more irritated as he does, when Moriyama interrupts him.

“You should come to my bar more often,” he says, waving his pair of chopsticks in the air. “There’s hardly anyone there, and besides, the people who do come by are hardly the type to recognize a big-name model like you.”

“So you mean your business is failing,” Ryouta responds drily, “and your only customers are dirty hipsters who think they’re too good for actually decent drinks.”

“Fuck you,” Moriyama replies cheerfully, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth. He continues talking as he chews, because Moriyama is a disgusting human being. “I’m serious, you should come by some time. I’ll even let you have the beer on tap for free.”

“I don’t think you could afford it,” Ryouta points out, and Moriyama swallows before laughing heartily.

“No,” he says, “I really couldn’t.”

-

Ryouta mostly forgets about Moriyama’s words until the following Thursday night. He’s lying on his bed at home, staring up at the darkened ceiling, because he was too tired to even bother turning on the lights when he got home. It’s been a long day. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he also doesn’t think he could stomach being out in public right now. He doesn’t have the energy to bother plastering on his best photo-ready smile; all he wants is to put on the slouchiest sweater he owns, walk out of his house, grab a drink, and have a relaxing night for once in his goddamn life.

That’s when it hits him: Moriyama’s bar.

 **Ryouta [10:12pm]:** hey i think i’m gonna head over tonight

He doesn’t get a response, but that’s to be expected. Moriyama’s bartending right now, and even though he’s normally a flighty asshole, his work ethic is actually truly admirable. Ryouta likes to make fun of Moriyama, but in all honestly, it takes guts to just quit your job and start a business like that. And he _is_ doing fairly well – well enough that he’s not in danger of shutting the whole thing down any time soon. Ryouta figures he owes it to Moriyama to actually patronize his bar once in a while.

It’s that thought that finally manages to galvanize him into getting up. He flicks his lights on and rifles through his closet for something more comfortable to wear. He peels off the constricting button-down and duster coat combo he’s been wearing all day, opting for a cozy turtleneck sweater instead. For good measure, he throws a hooded jacket on top of that too. Just in case he ever needs to hide his face. God, Ryouta can’t believe this is his life.

He hails a cab from his apartment, and pulls up at the bar half an hour later. It’s in a fairly secluded part of the city, far from the bustle of central Tokyo, which suits Ryouta’s purposes just fine. There are barely any people on the street when he gets out of the car, but when he pushes the door open to Moriyama’s bar he’s surprised by the number of people there.

The last time he’d been there, it had been nearly deserted – although to be fair, the last time he’d visited was just a week after it’d opened, when Moriyama was still trying to find his feet. It’s a fairly small space, but Ryouta still has to make his way to the bar before he manages to get Moriyama’s attention.

“Ryouta!” Moriyama calls when he finally spots him. He grins widely, raising the bottle of whisky in his hand like a salute.

“You’re doing surprisingly well,” Ryouta comments, sidling up to the bar and taking a seat.

“Thanks, I think,” Moriyama says. “Hold on, let me just finish mixing this drink.”

Ryouta waits patiently as Moriyama works his magic. His gaze sweeps across the bar, taking in the crowd, and lands on the makeshift stage positioned in the middle of the room. It’s little more than an elevated platform, but there are artfully positioned lights that illuminate the stage in a soft glow. There’s a band on stage, sitting around and tuning their instruments.

“It’s indie music night,” Moriyama explains.

Ryouta turns back to look at Moriyama.

“Indie music night?” he repeats.

“You’d be surprised how many up-and-coming musicians there are in Tokyo who are absolutely desperate for a performance space,” Moriyama says. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Uh, a lemon sour,” Ryouta says. Moriyama nods, getting to work.

“That’s why it’s more crowded than usual today,” Moriyama explains as he mixes Ryouta’s drink. “People actually come to listen to the bands that play here – it’s a really good business strategy, don’t you think?”

“Uh huh,” Ryouta says noncommittedly. He’s looking back at the band on stage – there’s four of them, a singer with a guitar slung over his shoulder, another guitarist, a bassist, and a drummer. He finds his gaze drawn to the lead singer. _He has nice arms_ , Ryouta thinks to himself absently, studying the way his shirt stretches tight at his shoulders. He’s looking down at his guitar, so Ryouta can’t quite see his face, and he finds himself wishing he would look up.

“Here,” Moriyama says, and Ryouta turns back to see Moriyama slide his drink across the counter.

“Thanks,” he says, picking it up to take a tentative sip. “It’s good!” he exclaims, surprised.

“Of course!” Moriyama grins. “Did you really think I’m the type to serve subpar alcohol to my customers?

“No,” Ryouta says honestly. He rests his drink back down on the bar. “So, indie music night…”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve actually had a couple of bands come and go already, but you’re just in time for the 11 p.m. band,” Moriyama says

“Do you… um, do you usually get the same bands to come every week?” Ryouta asks, trying to sound as casual as possible. Judging by the look that Moriyama shoots him, he’s failing miserably.

Mercifully, before Moriyama can say anything, the lead singer of the band leans into the microphone and starts to speak.

“Uh, hi everyone,” he says. His voice is a lot deeper than Ryouta expects, with a gruff edge to it that Ryouta discovers he likes. More importantly though – his _face_. He has a short, no-nonsense haircut, but that suits Ryouta just fine, because it makes his features that much more apparent. Ryouta stares at the deep blue of his eyes, the proud curve of his nose, the glass-sharp cut of his jaw, and he thinks, _oh my fucking god._

“Thanks for coming out tonight,” hot-lead-singer-man continues, smiling faintly at the crowd. Ryouta knows he swoons. He isn’t going to bother trying to hide it. “We’re Glory Blue, and we’re going to play a few of our songs.”

And then he launches into their first song, and Ryouta loses the capacity for any thought at all.

It feels like Ryouta’s field of vision narrows, blocking out everything in the room apart from the band playing on the other side of the bar. Everything around him could spontaneously burst into flames and he wouldn’t even notice – all he can focus on is the sound of the lead singer’s voice, the way he closes his eyes when he sings, the movement of his fingers as he strums at his guitar. _What about me?_ he sings. _What about me and you together?_ and all Ryouta can think is _yes, please_.

They play five songs in total. The whole set barely lasts twenty minutes, but for Ryouta, it feels like an eternity. When they’re done with their final song Ryouta finds himself clapping, but he still feels dazed.

“Hello? Earth to Kise?”

It’s Moriyama’s voice that manages to drag Ryouta back to reality. He blinks, his mind clearing. When he turns to Moriyama, it’s to see him grinning like a cat that just ate the proverbial canary.

“So, you really liked that band, huh,” Moriyama says.

“Who’s the leader singer?” Ryouta asks, completely without shame. He knows he sounds desperate, but that’s because he is.

“His name’s Kasamatsu,” Moriyama tells him, still grinning from ear-to-ear like the bastard he is. “Kasamatsu Yukio.”

“I’m going to marry him,” Ryouta informs him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life,” he says. He sighs for dramatic effect too, pressing his hand to his chest.

“Uh, isn’t it literally your job to hang out with hot people on a daily basis?” Moriyama says.

“No, this guy is _extra_ hot. Like, smoking hot. Sizzling hot. Lay my dead body on Tokyo asphalt on an August day kind of hot. Hotter than—”

“Well, you can tell him yourself,” Moriyama interrupts, “because he’s coming this way.”

Ryouta nearly spills what’s left of his lemon sour all over himself.

“Moriyama, I swear to god—”

“Hey, Kasamatsu!” Moriyama chirps, and Ryouta turns to see Kasamatsu Yukio himself sitting down next to him in all his sexy, sweaty glory, and Ryouta thinks he might be having a minor heart attack right now.

“Good show today,” Moriyama says. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“The usual,” Kasamatsu says. “Thanks.”

Moriyama turns away to get Kasamatsu’s order, which leaves Ryouta to manage his crisis alone. Oh god. He barely dares to even turn a sliver to his right. He feels frozen in place, like his limbs have suddenly turned to ice. Ryouta’s picked up many a person at a bar in his lifetime, so there’s no explanation for the way it feels like his tongue’s stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Here you go,” Moriyama says, setting a glass of beer down in front of Kasamatsu. Kasamatsu grunts in acknowledgment, picking it up and taking a long drink from it. Out of the corner of his eye Ryouta can see the way his throat bobs as he swallows. This is the best, but also worst day of his entire life.

“By the way, have you met my friend Kise?” Moriyama continues, casual as ever, locking eyes with Ryouta as he speaks. In those two seconds of eye contact, Ryouta hopes he’s able to communicate, as clearly as possible, _I want to slit your throat and throw your body to a pack of wild dogs right now._ Judging by the way Moriyama smiles serenely back at him, the core sentiment of that message seems to have been transmitted just fine.

Well. Time to face the music. Ryouta turns to Kasamatsu, putting on the most amiable smile he can muster right now, and Kasamatsu – Kasamatsu just blinks at him like he hadn’t even noticed Ryouta sitting there in the first place.

“I’m Kise Ryouta,” he says, still smiling even as Kasamatsu continues to stare at him. “I really liked your band.”

For what feels like ten years but probably lasts just a couple of seconds, Kasamatsu remains mute. He just stares at Ryouta’s face, eyes wide, barely blinking.

Then he recovers, face starting to go a little pink – or maybe that's just from that half-pint of beer he just chugged – and says, “Thank you. I’m Kasamatsu. How do you know Moriyama?”

Well, at least that’s an easy question. “I went to high school with him,” Ryouta says. “He was two years my senior, but we were in the basketball club together.”

“You played basketball?” Kasamatsu looks genuinely interested. Ryouta tries not to stare too hard into his eyes, but they really are gorgeous. His gaze is intense, the kind that just makes you want to sink into it forever. Ryouta has to remind himself to break eye contact, turning away to sip from his drink like it’s a lifeline.

“Yeah – just up to high school though,” Ryouta says. “I started modelling seriously in my first year of college, so that ended up taking up all my time.”

“You’re a model?” Kasamatsu sounds surprised, but it’s hard to read his expression. Ryouta cringes internally – he hadn’t meant to drop that fact just yet. Telling someone he’s a model usually changes their impression of Ryouta instantly, and he’d been trying to avoid doing exactly that with Kasamatsu.

“Yeah, I am,” Ryouta admits, smiling to cover his nervousness. “I’m not exactly a big-name model though. I mostly just work with smaller local brands.” Okay, that’s a complete lie. Ryouta just did a shoot for Dior two weeks ago, but Kasamatsu doesn’t need to know that.

“That makes sense,” Kasamatsu mutters.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Uh.” This time Ryouta is sure he’s not just imagining things – Kasamatsu’s cheeks definitely go just a little pink right then. “I just meant – well, you look like you _would_ be a model,” Kasamatsu finishes, laughing.

“Oh,” Ryouta says, aware that he’s blushing now too. He takes a hurried sip of his drink to try and cover it up. “Thanks, I think,” he adds, just a little shy, smiling over the rim of his glass.

Kasamatsu smiles back, and Ryouta’s knees go weak.

“So, uh, how do _you_ know Moriyama?” he asks, taking another (much larger) drink.

“He used to sit next to me at work,” Kasamatsu says drily, and Ryouta laughs at the disparaging look on his face, the kind that Moriyama tends to inspire in people.

“You were an accountant at the same firm as Moriyama,” Ryouta guesses.

“Are,” Kasamatsu says. “Present tense. Not all of us can afford to drop everything and open a whimsical business just because we felt like it.” Ryouta laughs again, turning to look at Moriyama, except he’s mysteriously vanished. How long has he been gone for? Oh god, Ryouta is absolutely going to murder Moriyama the next chance he gets.

“So you play in a band on the side?” Ryouta asks, and Kasamatsu nods.

“Me and my bandmates – we met in college, and we all have day jobs. But now that Moriyama has this bar we have a regular performance space at least, so that’s nice,” he explains.

“But you guys are so good though!” Ryouta says, frowning. He’s totally earnest, but the smile Kasamatsu gives him in response is just a touch self-deprecating.

“Thanks for saying that,” he says, “but unfortunately, there are a thousand other bands in Japan waiting for their big break.”

He gestures to the stage, and Ryouta realizes there’s another band there now, already starting to set up their equipment.

“Well, _I_ really liked your music,” Ryouta insists. “I’d definitely come back to listen to you guys again.”

“Yeah?” Kasamatsu looks surprised, and Ryouta flushes again when he realizes what he’s just said.

“Y-yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

“Well,” Kasamatsu says, smiling faintly, “Thursdays at 11 p.m. You know where to find us.”

-

 **Ryouta [11:47pm]:** moriyama yoshitaka, i am going to fucking murder you

 **Ryouta [11:47pm]:** but only after the wedding, so you’re still obliged to give us money

 **Moriyama [2:06am]:** I think you forgot how to spell ‘thank you’

 **Moriyama [2:06am]:** and you know what? you’re welcome

-

Like some kind of hopeless schmuck, Ryouta finds himself back at the bar the next Thursday, arriving just before eleven. He sits at the bar, making cow eyes at Kasamatsu all throughout his set, and when Kasamatsu makes eye contact with him halfway through a song, Ryouta has to grip the edge of the bar really, really hard to stop himself from falling to the floor right there and then.

When Kasamatsu walks towards the bar after he’s done with his set and takes a seat right next to Ryouta, Moriyama smirks and smirks. Ryouta ignores him.

“You’re here again,” Kasamatsu says. He sounds pleased. Ryouta can’t help but grin in response.

“I just didn’t have anything better to do on a Thursday night,” Ryouta replies. That’s a lie. He’d turned down an invitation for drinks with a bunch of models he was doing a shoot with earlier today, but Kasamatsu doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, neither did I, clearly,” Kasamatsu says.

Ryouta smiles over his drink – a highball today – and watches as Kasamatsu takes a swig from his glass of beer.

“So,” Ryouta says, and braces himself, “does that mean you’re not dating anyone?”

Kasamatsu immediately starts choking on his drink. He sets his glass down with a loud thud; some of the beer sloshes out onto the counter, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Sorry, was that question too personal?” Ryouta asks, staring in fascination at the spots of color that have appeared on Kasamatsu’s cheeks.

“No, no, you’re good,” Kasamatsu says, still coughing a little. “No, I’m not dating anyone right now.”

“Oh.” Warmth bubbles up in Ryouta’s chest, and he has to fight to quash it back down. Or maybe that’s just the cocktail he’s been drinking.

“I don’t have time for anything in my life other than work and music, apparently,” Kasamatsu continues, and the warmth in Ryouta’s chest immediately turns cold.

“Oh,” Ryouta says again. He shakes himself mentally – _no, snap out of it, Ryouta, don’t lose hope yet –_ and asks, “Your band’s been keeping you busy lately?”

Kasamatsu nods. “We’re working on an EP right now, actually,” he says, and that piques Ryouta’s curiosity.

“Really? So the songs you’ve been playing these past two weeks…”

“Soon to be released to the world, hopefully.” Kasamatsu says it while smiling faintly, and though they’ve only really just met, Ryouta can still sense the pride in his voice. It’s really, really cute. If Ryouta wasn’t in love before, he definitely is now. “I mean, you’ve heard all six of our original songs by now, but…”

“I’m sure the EP will be amazing,” Ryouta says sincerely. Kasamatsu smiles at him.

“Thank you,” he returns.

They lapse into silence after that, which just means Ryouta’s left alone with his thoughts. Specifically, his newfound desire to dig up as much information as possible on Kasamatsu’s romantic history.

“So,” Ryouta says, measuring his words carefully, “is there a particular reason why you started choking your beer when I asked if you’re dating anyone right now?”

“Shit,” Kasamatsu mutters. “I was hoping you didn’t notice.”

“I think everyone in this bar noticed,” Ryouta says innocently. Kasamatsu glares at him, and Ryouta just beams brightly in response.

“Well, it’s just… it’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship,” Kasamatsu mumbles. He looks properly embarrassed now, and Ryouta is trying his best not to openly stare – he really is. “I… uh, I’m not much of a dater.”

“No?” Ryouta says. “A catch like you?”

The spots on Kasamatsu’s cheeks turn even redder. “I don’t… uh...” Ryouta watches him splutter for a full five seconds before he decides to change track. “What about you?” he asks instead, and Ryouta decides to throw him a bone here.

“I’m very single,” Ryouta says, sighing. Maybe he’s laying it on a little bit thick, but Ryouta has never been subtle about anything in his life, and that approach seems to have worked out for him thus far. “I’m still searching for the One.”

“Hmm.” Kasamatsu leans his head against a hand, looking amused. That’s not really the reaction Ryouta was expecting. “And how’s your search going?”

“Well, you know, when you’re a model—” Oh shit, wait, backtrack. “—Even as a small fry like me,” Okay, that’s much better, “it’s pretty much just a never-ending cycle of dating and breaking up with the same two-faced people you work with, until you’ve run out of people to date, in which case you start the cycle again and go crawling back to one of your exes.”

Kasamatsu raises an eyebrow. “So you’ve… dated a lot of people?” he says.

“I guess,” Ryouta says, sighing. “But like I said. I’m still looking for the someone special.”

“Someone special,” Kasamatsu echoes.

“If he’s out there, and if he somehow wants me too, I’m all ears,” Ryouta continues. He _knows_ this is a lot, but he thinks it’s a point worth beating into Kasamatsu’s skull.

But even despite all that, Kasamatsu doesn’t say anything, just takes a long drink from his glass. Ryouta thinks it’s probably time to change the subject – this whole endeavor clearly hasn’t been as successful as he’d expected it to be.

“Maybe you should use that line in a song,” Ryouta suggests, grinning. Kasamatsu squints at him.

“We don’t really do those kinds of songs,” he says.

“What, happy ones?” Ryouta says. Kasamatsu’s forehead furrows, and if Ryouta laughs just a little too loudly at the look on his face, it’s definitely not to mask the disappointment that settles in the pit of stomach.

-

Somehow, it’s become a routine.

Months pass. Ryouta makes sure his Thursday nights are always free. It’s become the highlight of his week, the one thing he knows he can count on to look forward to. He doesn’t care if he’s heard every single one of Glory Blue’s songs by now. It’s an uninterrupted block of time every single week where he can openly stare at Kasamatsu as much as he wants – his arms, his shoulders, his face. Ryouta might be in the business of beautiful people, but he’s never met anyone like Kasamatsu before, who draws him in without even having to try. He’s met plenty of people he’s found attractive – people he’s wanted to sleep with, people he’s wanted to date, even – but there’s never been anyone like Kasamatsu.

Kasamatsu is honest to a fault and genuine in everything he does. He’s thoughtful, generous, and kind, not because anyone expects him to be, but because he just is. Ryouta’s never met anyone like that before.

As time passes, Ryouta comes to a realization.

It comes to him after one too many close calls of accidentally letting slip that he’s maybe just a teensy bit more famous than Kasamatsu thinks he is. It’s a lie – there’s no way to sugarcoat it, because that’s what it is – but it’s a lie Ryouta’s determined to keep up. At first he thinks it’s just because it’s too embarrassing to backtrack after keeping it up for so long, but after the fifth time he’s almost referenced some famous celebrity he isn’t supposed to have any business knowing, he realizes that’s not it.

It’s so stupid and simple, but it hits him as he’s sitting in a cab, on his way back to his apartment after yet another indie music night.

Maybe it’s because – and it’s almost too embarrassing to actually articulate it – Ryouta likes that Kasamatsu doesn’t know anything about him, doesn’t have any expectations or preconceived notions of him. There’s no baggage, no reputation. Kasamatsu doesn’t need to know that Ryouta’s been fighting his way up the fashion food chain since the age of eighteen. He doesn’t need to know about Ryouta’s brand sponsorships, or his resume, or his skincare regime, or his workout routine, or what he eats on a regular day. He’s just Kise Ryouta, the _real_ Kise Ryouta hiding underneath all that eyeliner and fancy clothes, and that’s all he really wants to be.

So maybe Ryouta was intending to ask him out. Maybe he spends an alarming amount of time thinking about what it would be like to feel those biceps flex under his hands, or if he’d taste like the beer he’s always drinking if Ryouta ever mustered up the courage to kiss him. But when he thinks about losing this perfect pocket of time he’s carved out for the two of them – when he thinks about losing these nights of long conversation with Kasamatsu – when he thinks about losing _Kasamatsu_ , he almost can’t bear the thought at all.

Moriyama would probably call him a coward, and maybe that's what he is. But Ryouta thinks he’d take this agonizing longing over rejection any day.

-

As with most of the bad decisions he’s made in his life, it starts, yet again, with Moriyama.

Specifically, it starts with Moriyama saying, “Tomorrow’s a national holiday – why don’t we all stay out tonight? There’s that club next door that’s always making a racket. I want to know what the hype’s all about.”

Ryouta knows this is a terrible idea. Before he can vocalize how much of a terrible idea this is, however, Kasamatsu speaks up first.

“That sounds fun,” he says, and Ryouta’s eyes go wide. “Come to think of it, we should invite Kobori too.”

He says it while staring intensely at Moriyama. Moriyama stares back with equal ferocity, as if they’re trying to have a telepathic argument.

Kobori is the bassist of Glory Blue. Ryouta’s only talked to him a couple of times, but he seems nice. He’s tall and a little scary-looking, but he has a calm, quiet presence that always puts Ryouta at ease. But what does Kobori have to do with anything—

“Fine,” Moriyama says at last. “You can invite Kobori, but you and Kise both have to come.”

“Hold on,” Ryouta interjects. “Why am I part of this bargain?”

“You’ll come, won’t you, Kise?” Moriyama says, flashing Ryouta his most winning grin.

“Uh,” Ryouta says.

“What about you, Kasamatsu?” Moriyama turns to Kasamatsu, and his gaze sharpens, his smile turning mischievous.

Kasamatsu’s forehead wrinkles. There’s a moment of silence where Ryouta glances back and forth between the both of them. Then Kasamatsu visibly deflates, exhaling deeply.

“Yeah, fine. I’ll go,” he says, looking resigned.

“That just leaves you, Kise,” Moriyama declares. “Are you coming or not?”

Well, if Kasamatsu’s going, there’s really only one answer Ryouta can possibly give.

“Sure, why not,” he says, sighing. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

-

Ryouta is very drunk.

If pressed, he could probably explain how he got to this point. Mostly, it’s Moriyama’s fault. Ryouta vaguely remembers him closing the bar early – shooing people out, he remembers that part. He remembers the way Moriyama had grinned as he pulled out a bottle of vodka from behind the counter.

He also remembers the way Moriyama flushed a delightful shade of pink when Kobori—who, for some reason, actually agreed to hang out with them—was the first one to down a shot. That memory feels significant. Maybe. Ryouta doesn’t possess the higher brain function required to process that information right now.

He doesn’t remember actually getting to the club. They’d walked. Probably. And now he’s standing here, yelling into Kasamatsu’s ear, “You should dance!”

“I don’t dance!” Kasamatsu yells back at him. Kasamatsu is perfectly sober. Ryouta knows this because Kasamatsu announced at the start of the evening that he wasn’t going to drink, because somebody needed to take care of Moriyama’s drunk ass when he inevitably ended up making a fool of himself. Ryouta also knows he’s sober because he’d watched Kasamatsu all throughout their drinking session and, true to his word, Kasamatsu didn’t so much as take a single sip of alcohol. Kasamatsu is so good and honest and noble, and wow, Ryouta really doesn't want to deal with those thoughts right now.

“Well, _I’m_ going to dance,” Ryouta announces loudly, and then immediately flees.

Being on the dance floor is nice. Ryouta hasn’t done this for a while. It’s almost comforting, actually, being crushed in by the crowd of people here. The music is so loud it rattles in his skull, drowning out any other thought he could possibly be having. The lights are gaudy and it’s too damn hot, but Ryouta feels all the tension in his shoulders melting away, hips starting to move to the beat as if by sheer instinct. When he closes his eyes there are spots dancing in his vision from the bright lights, but Ryouta keeps his eyes shut anyway. He tilts his head back, sighing contently, because it feels good like this – to surrender all thought and give in to the intoxicating pull of a good beat.

Someone taps on his shoulder, and Ryouta’s eyes fly open. There’s someone standing there, smiling at him. Ryouta can barely hear what he’s saying over the music, but it’s obvious what he’s asking.

Truth be told, Ryouta doesn’t want to dance with anyone who isn’t Kasamatsu. But Kasamatsu isn’t here – he’s standing all the way over on the other side of the room. Ryouta turns, and sure enough, Kasamatsu’s still standing by the bar. Except he’s staring right back at Ryouta.

Ryouta doesn't know how he knows Kasamatsu’s looking at him. He could be looking at anyone else; he could just be gazing in his general direction. But Ryouta knows. He _knows_. There’s a look in Kasamatsu’s eyes that makes him shiver, makes heat pool in his belly, makes him turn back to the handsome stranger asking for a dance and say yes.

He’s bold. There’s a hand on his waist. He dives right into Ryouta’s personal space, but Ryouta doesn’t mind. He puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, and it’s bony and narrow and nothing like Kasamatsu’s, and maybe that’s why he holds on. There’s whiskey breath on his face, hot against his cheek. The hand on his waist dips lower, and Ryouta whimpers on reflex, because he hasn’t been touched in _so long,_ and because maybe this isn’t actually so bad, if he keeps his eyes closed. Maybe he could even—

All of a sudden the hand on his waist is gone, and Ryouta’s eyes snap open at the sudden loss of contact – and Kasamatsu is standing right there.

The man he’d just been dancing with is looking extremely affronted, but Kasamatsu apparently has the most terrifying glare Ryouta has ever seen on a person in real life – and Ryouta’s not going to lie, that look on his face does send a spark of arousal shooting straight up his spine – because the man backs away almost immediately, merging back into the crowd and disappearing from view.

Ryouta has a lot of questions, but under the glare of the lights he can see that Kasamatsu’s face is red – the kind of red he always gets when he’s had one too many glasses of beer.

“I thought you said you weren’t drinking,” Ryouta says. Kasamatsu shoots him a puzzled look, so Ryouta repeats it again, louder this time – and if he leans in to say it directly into Kasamatsu’s ear, that’s just so that Kasamatsu can hear him better.

“Changed my mind,” Kasamatsu says. He doesn’t move his face away. Ryouta’s blood roars deafeningly in his ears.

“I also thought you said you don’t dance,” Ryouta continues, trying too hard to be casual. It’s just – the lights, and their proximity, and Kasamatsu’s flushed face. Ryouta would do any number of ridiculous and ill-advised things if it meant he could keep Kasamatsu this close to him forever.

“I’m not,” Kasamatsu says, and he’s right. They’re just standing there, two unmoving bodies in a sea of dancers.

Ryouta laughs, and because he’s feeling brave, he says, “I think I could change that.”

“Yeah?” Kasamatsu says it like a dare, and Ryouta feels it like an electric shock.

Ryouta sucks in a breath as he puts a hand on Kasamatsu’s shoulder. He doesn’t know if he can feel Kasamatsu’s body heat through the thin cotton of his shirt, or if he’s the one who’s burning up right now. Kasamatsu’s shoulder is thick and muscular, and Ryouta tightens his grip without really even thinking about it.

The music shifts into something slower, almost retro-sounding, and Ryouta starts to move, his hips swaying leisurely to the music. He cocks his hip at an angle that’s just a little too sharp, tilts his chin down so that he can stare at Kasamatsu through his eyelashes. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Kasamatsu, and Kasamatsu’s eyes continue burning into Ryouta’s.

“You’re still not dancing,” Ryouta points out.

“Maybe you should show me how,” Kasamatsu challenges.

There’s a pause while Ryouta weighs his options. He doesn’t know what it is that makes him do it – maybe it’s the alcohol still running through his veins, making his heart pound. Maybe it’s the look on Kasamatsu’s face, the way the lighting in the club illuminates the high points of his face and casts the rest of it in shadow, making him look ten times more devastating that he already usually is. Or maybe it’s just Ryouta – Ryouta, who’s getting tired of not being able to have what he wants.

Ryouta reaches for one of Kasamatsu’s arms and lifts it, looping it around the small of his back, his heart going haywire in his chest.

And then Kasamatsu tightens his grip, pulling Ryouta in even closer, and Ryouta can’t stop the gasp that escapes his lips. Kasamatsu’s arm is huge and wonderful around his waist, and more importantly, they’re pressed together so close now that Ryouta’s sure Kasamatsu can physically feel the chaotic rhythm of his pulse. Their faces are so close together it should look ridiculous, but it isn’t. Not even a little bit.

Kasamatsu tilts his head up to look at Ryouta, his jaw jutting out defiantly, and surely Kasamatsu _must_ be able to feel the full-body shudder that passes through Ryouta right then. Surely he must know the effect he has on Ryouta.

“Show me,” Kasamatsu reminds him, and Ryouta nods, starting to move again.

“Like – like this.” He stumbles on his words, uncharacteristically nervous, but Kasamatsu just nods, starting to mimic Ryouta’s movements, and god, maybe this is the real reason why Kasamatsu doesn’t dance. There must be a law against the way Kasamatsu’s moving his hips right now, and if not, there should be. The way Kasamatsu dances against Ryouta is nothing short of exquisite sin – Ryouta had no idea Kasamatsu was capable of _this_ : the slow, sensual roll of his body and the way he’s looking at Ryouta like he’s going to eat him alive.

Then Kasamatsu’s eyes flicker down to Ryouta’s lips, and Ryouta thinks, _oh_.

He leans down at the same time that Kasamatsu tilts his face up, and then they’re kissing, and it’s absolutely perfect and everything Ryouta has ever wanted. Kasamatsu tastes like the alcohol he must’ve shotgunned at the bar to work up his nerves. His breath is hot against Ryouta’s mouth. He bites at Ryouta’s lower lip, a little mean, then soothes it over with his tongue. His hand presses hard against Ryouta’s lower back, hard enough that Ryouta wonders if it’ll leave five perfect finger-shaped brands against his skin. Ryouta presses closer, as close as he can possibly get. He lifts his hand from Kasamatsu’s shoulder to wind his arms around his neck instead. When he presses their hips together he can feel a telltale bulge riding up against his thigh, and it makes him moan into Kasamatsu’s mouth, filthy and unrestrained.

Ryouta pulls away, putting his lips next to Kasamatsu’s ear so that he can drop his voice and whisper, “Don’t worry, this can just be a one-time thing.”

And then suddenly all the wonderful points of contact between their bodies vanish as Kasamatsu wrenches himself away, his expression gone completely blank.

Even over the heavy bass of the music, Ryouta still hears him perfectly when he says, “If that’s the kind of guy you think I am, I don’t think you really know me at all.”

Before Ryouta can even begin to say something he’s turning away, pushing his way into the crowd and getting swallowed up immediately. When Ryouta finally manages to pull himself out of his frozen stupor to follow Kasamatsu, he’s nowhere to be found.


	2. Chapter 2

**Moriyama [10:52pm]:** hey

 **Moriyama [10:52pm]:** I don’t know if you want to hear this, but

 **Moriyama [10:52pm]:** glory blue’s EP is out

 **Moriyama [10:52pm]:** you should check it out, if you want to

-

It’s been four weeks, and Ryouta’s almost been able to put the whole fiasco from his mind. He doesn’t go back to another indie music night. Instead, he tries to keep his days as busy as possible – pointedly making sure his Thursday nights are always filled up – and it’s almost a little too easy. He’s busier than ever, doing more than ever. Business trips, photo shoots, fittings, meetings – he does it all, and if it leaves him bone-achingly exhausted at the end of every day, that’s the entire point.

Then Moriyama’s text arrives.

Ryouta lies curled up in his bed, staring at it for a long, long time.

All the feelings he’s tried to suppress over the past four weeks come rushing back to him all at once – shame and sadness and, above all, regret. His room is totally silent, and it only makes the sound of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears that much louder.

 _Well,_ Ryouta thinks, _it’s not like I have anything to lose._

Before he can second-guess himself, he clicks on the link Moriyama’s attached to the end of his last text message. It leads to a digital album on Bandcamp. _11:11_ _by Glory Blue_ , it reads.

There are seven songs in all. Ryouta reads their names, brow furrowing. He only recognizes the first six – the last track on the album is the eponymously titled “11:11”. He doesn’t think he’s heard that one before. It must be a new song.

Holding his breath, Ryouta hits play.

Kasamatsu’s voice immediately fills the room, and Ryouta is unprepared for the sudden wave of longing that roils in his gut, threatening to drag him under.

 _You were all dressed up,_ he sings _, but it wasn’t for me._

Did Kasamatsu write the lyrics to this song? Really, it could’ve been any of the four band members, but Ryouta can’t get the thought out of his mind. Thinking about Kasamatsu writing this song about someone else, about some other pretty stranger catching Kasamatsu’s eye, makes Ryouta want to fling his phone off his balcony and into the streets of Tokyo.

He doesn’t, though. He just lies there and keeps listening to the song.

 _I didn't put my money on it, but I was hoping you’d be here_ , Kasamatsu sings and Ryouta smiles at the irony of it, because if that doesn’t describe how Ryouta felt for those first blissful few weeks, he doesn’t know what does.

 _If I was something that you ever wanted, I’m all ears_ , Kasamatsu continues, _I’m all ears_.

Wait. Didn’t Ryouta say that to him, a long time ago? The memory comes back to him now – sitting at the bar after Kasamatsu’s set, Ryouta grinning cheekily at him, telling him flippantly, “Maybe you should use that in a song.”

 _I knew from the beginning_ , Kasamatsu sings. _It was you from the beginning._

“No way,” Ryouta murmurs out loud. “No… way.”

Is this song about him? No – there’s no way that’s true. This is just all a figment of Ryouta’s overactive and desperate imagination.

But he keeps listening to the song, and by the time Kasamatsu sings about this mystery stranger’s dirty blonde hair, Ryouta can’t convince himself otherwise any longer.

He scrolls down – there’s a credits section right at the bottom of the page. Below the list of people involved in the production of the EP there’s a dedication section. Every band member has listed a few names (Kobori has included Moriyama under his section, Ryouta notices with amusement), and when Ryouta sees the names Kasamatsu’s listed, his heart stops cold in his chest.

 _For mom, dad, my brothers, and Kise_ , it reads, plain and simple.

Oh, no. This is somehow so much worse than thinking Kasamatsu hated him and never wanted to see him again. His name is right there, and Kasamatsu’s written an entire song about him, something beautiful and joyful and full of hope, and he doesn’t deserve it at all. Kasamatsu’s written a song for him, and all Ryouta has done… was fuck things up and then run away.

He lies there for a long time, replaying the song over and over again, thinking.

Maybe there’s not much Ryouta can do for him now, but there’s one thing he knows he’s capable of, at the very least.

He pulls up the Twitter app on his phone and starts to compose a new tweet.

 _Check out this album! It’s awesome,_ he writes, in English and in Japanese, then pastes the Bandcamp link just below that.

Then he hits the send tweet button, sets his phone back on the nightstand, and goes to bed.

-

Ryouta wakes up at eight in the morning as he always does. He brushes his teeth, spends an inordinate amount of time on his extensive skincare routine, makes breakfast, goes to the gym downstairs, and takes a shower. As he steps out of the bathroom he hears a commotion coming from outside, but it’s probably just some famous tenant stepping outside for a cup of coffee or something inane like that, so Ryouta doesn’t pay it any heed.

He’s poking his head into his refrigerator, wondering if he should cook lunch for himself or if he should get delivery, when his doorbell rings.

That’s strange. He isn’t expecting any guests – but then again, he’s also been on the receiving end of surprise visits from his agent when he’s being unresponsive on the phone, so he figures that’s just it.

Then he opens his door, and Kasamatsu Yukio is standing right there.

Ryouta blinks at him.

“How did you get my address?” is the first thing he says, because putting his foot in his mouth is apparently something he just does now.

“Moriyama,” Kasamatsu says.

Silence. Kasamatsu takes a breath and opens his mouth, as if he’s about to say something, so Ryouta quickly says the first thing that comes to his mind, which is, “You’re not supposed to be able to get in here.” Great. Good job, Kise Ryouta.

“The doorman let me in,” Kasamatsu replies. He’s frowning, that familiar wrinkle marring his forehead as it always done when he’s frustrated about something. “I think he took pity on me after I got ambushed by paparazzi at the entrance to this building.”

“Wait, what?” Ryouta stares at him. “Paparazzi?”

“Kise,” Kasamatsu says, ignoring his question, “exactly how famous are you?”

“Um,” Ryouta says.

Kasamatsu shoves his phone at Ryouta’s face; Ryouta takes it from Kasamatsu’s hand so he can read what’s on the screen.

It’s his tweet from last night. He doesn’t see anything out of ordinary about it.

“You found my Twitter account?” Ryouta asks, confused.

“Look at how many retweets it has,” Kasamatsu says, exasperated.

Ryouta looks at Kasamatsu’s phone again. There are almost a thousand retweets.

“Oh,” he says.

“We got over a thousand downloads in a single night,” Kasamatsu says.

“Oh,” Ryouta says again, because what is he supposed to say? Why is Kasamatsu here? Did he come all the way to Ryouta’s apartment in Roppongi on a Saturday morning to yell at him and tell him never to interact to with his band ever again?

“Are you mad at me?” Ryouta asks.

“What?” Kasamatsu stares at Ryouta. “No, of course not. Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” Ryouta says, defensive. “I thought you didn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore.”

“What the fuck? When have I ever said that?” Kasamatsu’s forehead is so scrunched up by this point Ryouta wonders if his head’s going to eventually explode. He hopes it explodes. If Kasamatsu’s head explodes then Ryouta won’t have to deal with this anymore. He’s standing in his doorway, hair still wet from his shower, wearing a ratty college t-shirt and sweatpants, and Kasamatsu still hasn’t explained what he’s doing here.

“I mean, you didn’t talk to me for four whole weeks,” Ryouta says. He folds his arms around himself, instinctive.

“You mean, _you_ didn’t talk to me for four weeks,” Kasamatsu counters.

Ryouta inhales deeply. This is not how he thought this conversation would go. In his head, any hypothetical attempts at reconciliation with Kasamatsu always ended with kissing. They’re definitely not heading in that direction right now.

“Do you want to come inside?” Ryouta asks, finally. “It’s cold.”

Kasamatsu looks taken aback, like that was the last thing he was expecting Ryouta to say.

“I – I guess. If you don’t mind,” he says.

Ryouta nods, stepping back to let Kasamatsu in. He watches nervously as Kasamatsu toes off his shoes. When he straightens up his eyes go wide; it takes a beat before Ryouta realizes that Kasamatsu’s looking at his apartment. Ryouta looks around too, and thinks about what Kasamatsu must be seeing – marble floors and glass surfaces, eerily pristine, all of it spreading out further than any regular apartment in Tokyo ever could.

“You’re not actually a small-time local model, are you,” Kasamatsu says, his gaze shifting back to Ryouta. Ryouta looks away.

“No,” he confesses.

“So why did you say you were?” Kasamatsu says. _Why did you lie?_ The unspoken question hangs in the air between them. Ryouta stares at his feet.

“I didn’t want you to make assumptions about me,” he says, quiet. “I thought – I don't know what I thought. I just wanted you to like me for who I am.”

“But I did,” Kasamatsu says. “I do.”

Ryouta looks up.

Kasamatsu gazes back at him, looking so earnest that Ryouta thinks he feels his heart breaking in half. _Don’t cry_ , he tells himself. _Don’t you dare fucking cry, Ryouta._

“But I’ve been doing some thinking lately,” Ryouta says, as if Kasamatsu hadn’t spoken, “and I’ve realized there wasn’t really a point in that. There isn’t a secret version of me hiding under the me who’s seen every ugly side of the fashion industry, who’s never been in a serious relationship in my life. I’m just me.” Great, he’s definitely crying now, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He doesn’t reach up to wipe them away, though. He just stands there, knowing he must look like a wreck, feeling like his chest is about to cave in on itself.

“I don’t care,” Kasamatsu says.

“What are you talking about?” Ryouta demands. “I lied to you. I hurt you.”

“You did,” Kasamatsu agrees. “But you also made my band national news overnight.”

“That wasn’t even intentional,” Ryouta mutters.

“And I just – I like talking to you,” Kasamatsu continues. “Are you going to make me stand here and justify why I like you?”

“Yes!” Ryouta exclaims. “I’m totally wrong for you! I thought we established this!”

“I think you didn’t mean what you said that day,” Kasamatsu says. “I don’t think you just want this to be a one-time thing.”

“Of course not,” Ryouta snaps, exasperated. “We could stand here and psychoanalyze me all day, but the point is I didn’t say that because I _wanted_ it, I just said it because I thought—”

Kasamatsu doesn’t let Ryouta explain himself, though, because he takes three steps forward, takes Ryouta’s hands in his, and leans in to kiss him.

It’s even better than the last time they kissed, that fateful day in the club. Kasamatsu tastes like coffee and cigarettes. He grips Ryouta’s hands, anchoring him in place. He kisses Ryouta like he’s been meaning to for a long, long time, and maybe he has. Ryouta thinks about Kasamatsu’s newest song, about seeing someone from across the room and wanting them instantly. Maybe Kasamatsu’s felt the same way all this damn time.

Ryouta pulls away, knowing that he’s grown completely red. He looks down, suddenly shy.

“You know, all those paparazzi are probably still waiting for you to leave,” he says. “If you stay any longer there’re going to be rumors.”

“They’re not technically rumors if they’re true,” Kasamatsu says.

Ryouta stops breathing for a moment.

Kasamatsu’s still holding Ryouta’s hands, and he looks at Ryouta, his eyes soft. There’s just something about the look in Kasamatsu’s eyes that always makes Ryouta’s stomach turn over – his gaze is always intense, just like his music and his words and the strength of his convictions, and Ryouta feels laid bare, like all his defenses have been peeled away.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Ryouta murmurs.

“I don’t just want to see you on indie music night,” Kasamatsu says, wonderfully earnest and just so _Kasamatsu_. “I’d like to see you as much as I can,” and Ryouta’s heart feels like it’s singing in his chest, threatening to burst right out of his ribcage.

“Just ask me to date you already,” he says, grinning so hard he thinks his face is going to split in enough.

“Do I really have to?” Kasamatsu asks. The look on his face right now is somehow both exasperated and fond at the same time, and it makes a pleasant warmth bubble up in Ryouta’s belly. He thinks he wants Kasamatsu to look at him like that forever.

“Yes,” Ryouta says, unrepentant, and Kasamatsu sighs.

“Okay,” he says, squaring his shoulders. He takes a deep breath, interlacing Ryouta’s fingers with his. “Kise Ryouta, will you date me?”

“Yes,” Ryouta whispers. “Yes, of course,” and he leans in again, letting himself be swept away.

-

The kiss is sweet, until it’s not. Kasamatsu’s hand rests on its waist, but then it shifts lower, making Ryouta’s spine tingle with anticipation.

“I think we have some unfinished business,” Ryouta whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse.

“Yeah?” Kasamatsu moves to trail kisses along the side of Ryouta’s neck, and Ryouta shudders.

“That night, at the club,” Ryouta says. “I was going to let you fuck me.”

Kasamatsu moves away so that he can look Ryouta squarely in the eye. His gaze is so dark, his pupils blown black.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Kasamatsu says, his voice low.

“I’ll show you.” Ryouta puts Kasamatsu’s hands on his waist and walks them backward. They bump into walls along the way, but it just makes Ryouta giggle as he tugs at Kasamatsu’s jacket. It gets thrown off somewhere in the hallway; Ryouta doesn't stop to take notice.

When they finally make it to Ryouta’s bedroom, Kasamatsu doesn’t hesitate to topple Ryouta onto the mattress and lean down, caging Ryouta’s wrists in his hands and kissing him again. The feeling of being pinned down by Kasamatsu is so good it makes Ryouta moan into his mouth – then Kasamatsu pulls away, smirking.

“You liked that?” he asks, way too smug.

“Shut the fuck up,” Ryouta mutters. “Why are you still wearing clothes?”

Kasamatsu doesn’t say anything in response, just sits up and pulls his shirt off. Ryouta pushes himself up onto his elbows to watch, his eyes trailing over Kasamatsu’s abs unabashedly. He lets out a low whistle, and Kasamatsu grins at him.

“Like what you see?” he asks.

“Of course,” Ryouta replies.

Maybe there’s something about the way he says it – the sheer honesty of it – that makes Kasamatsu’s gaze soften. He leans back down to kiss Ryouta again, unexpectedly sweet.

“Can I,” he says, tugging at Ryouta’s shirt, and Ryouta nods, sitting up and lifting his arms so Kasamatsu can pull his ratty old t-shirt off. Ryouta knows he looks good – he literally makes his living from looking good – but he can’t help but feel suddenly shy under Kasamatsu’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Gorgeous,” Kasamatsu mutters, running his hand across Ryouta’s chest, and Ryouta looks away, turning abruptly pink. Plenty of people have said that throughout the course of his life, but no one’s ever said it like Kasamatsu does – introspective, almost reverent. Ryouta hisses when Kasamatsu brushes his thumb against Ryouta’s nipple; Kasamatsu does it again, and Ryouta gasps.

Kasamatsu lays Ryouta back down, resting one steady hand against Ryouta’s side as he lowers his head and lays a kiss against Ryouta’s clavicle.

“Oh, fuck,” Ryouta says.

Kasamatsu keeps kissing his way down Ryouta’s chest, slow and steadfast. Ryouta shuts his eyes because he feels like he’s about to burst at the seams; the love and care and quiet patience with which Kasamatsu treats him is almost too much to bear.

“Kise,” Kasamatsu says.

Ryouta opens his eyes. Kasamatsu’s gazing at him, his eyes still soft.

“Hey,” Ryouta says, and Kasamatsu smiles, just a little lopsided.

“Hey,” he returns.

“You’re still wearing pants,” Ryouta observes.

“I think I can fix that,” Kasamatsu replies.

He moves off the bed, standing so he can start unbuckling his belt. Ryouta keeps his eyes fixed on him, watching as Kasamatsu’s belt hits his bedroom floor, then his jeans, then his underwear, and finally it’s just him, standing there.

Ryouta sighs. “Figures you’d have a big dick,” he mutters.

“Is this how you always act in the bedroom?” Kasamatsu asks, crawling back onto the bed so he can pinch Ryouta’s side.

“No,” Ryouta answers. “Just with you.”

“Good,” Kasamatsu says.

He tugs at the waistband of Ryouta’s sweatpants, and Ryouta lifts his legs up, letting Kasamatsu pull them off along with his briefs. But Ryouta doesn’t have any time to feel self-conscious about being naked, because Kasamatsu’s pressing him back down and kissing him again, and this is good, this is so much better than Ryouta ever thought it would be. Kasamatsu’s weight against him is almost comforting, and Ryouta loves having every inch of that body pressed against him. He wants to put his hands everywhere he can reach – the cut of Kasamatsu’s hip, the line of his back, the curve of his ass – and so he does, just because he can.

“Can I blow you?” Ryouta asks when Kasamatsu pulls away, and Kasamatsu wheezes like he’s just gotten the wind knocked right out of him.

“Jesus,” he says.

“Is that a yes?” Ryouta prompts.

“As if I’d ever say no,” Kasamatsu mutters.

And so Ryouta pushes at Kasamatsu’s shoulder, rolling them both over so he’s the one on top now, and this is nice too. Ryouta sits perched on Kasamatsu’s thighs, and it gives him the perfect vantage point to look down at Kasamatsu, laid bare before him.

His heart pounds in his chest as he slides down Kasamatsu’s body. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly inexplicably nervous; it’s not like he’s never done this before. But he’s never done this with Kasamatsu, and maybe that’s where all the difference lies.

He wraps his hand around Kasamatsu’s cock, watching the way his eyes flutter shut at the sensation. He starts stroking, and Kasamatsu’s mouth falls open as he sighs. Then Ryouta shuts his eyes, taking Kasamatsu into his mouth, but he doesn’t need to be able to see to measure Kasamatsu’s reaction. It’s there in the way his hips jump like a live wire the moment Ryouta slides down, in the bitten-off curse that escapes from Kasamatsu’s throat.

“Oh, fuck,” Kasamatsu groans. “Kise.”

Ryouta hums, sliding a fraction of an inch lower. Kasamatsu’s big, but Ryouta’s determined, and he swallows Kasamatsu down, taking him as deep as he can possibly go.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kasamatsu exhales, as Ryouta starts bobbing his head, establishing a rhythm. He can practically feel the herculean effort with which Kasamatsu keeps his hips still, and Ryouta really loves that about Kasamatsu – how thoughtful and sweet he is – but Ryouta kind of wishes Kasamatsu would actually just thrust up into his mouth. He shivers at the thought, and maybe Kasamatsu can sense it because he’s pulling at Ryouta’s hair, and the sudden shock of it makes Ryouta moans around Kasamatsu’s cock, loud and shameless.

“Jesus, Kise,” Kasamatsu gasps, pulling Ryouta off of his cock. Ryouta looks up at Kasamatsu through his eyelashes, pouting in an exaggerated manner because he _knows_ what he must look like right now: lips red and bruised, precum running down his chin. He looks like an absolutely mess, and he knows Kasamatsu likes it, because he’s dragging Ryouta up so he can kiss him again, all sweetness forgotten in favor of the way Kasamatsu sinks his teeth into Ryouta’s lower lip.

“If you keep doing that I won’t be able to fuck you,” Kasamatsu mutters against Ryouta’s lips.

Ryouta grins, feral, and says, “What’re you going to do about that?”

The challenge in his voice is clear. Kasamatsu’s eyes go dark, and then he’s pushing Ryouta over, flipping their positions so that he’s the one on top again, and wrapping his fingers around Ryouta’s cock.

“ _Ah_ ,” Ryouta hisses, grabbing onto to Kasamatsu’s arm.

“You like that?” Kasamatsu asks, as if there could ever be any doubt about Ryouta’s answer.

“Ah, god,” Ryouta gasps. It feels almost _too_ good, finally getting Kasamatsu’s hands on him like that. Kasamatsu leans over, biting Ryouta’s earlobe, and the sound Ryouta makes at that is nothing short of embarrassing.

“Lube and condoms?” Kasamatsu asks. Ryouta nods, even though he can barely form coherent sentences right now.

“T-top drawer,” he says.

Kasamatsu lets go of Ryouta to go rifle through his drawer, and Ryouta seizes the chance to catch his breath for a second. He feels totally overwhelmed, his heart beating a mile a minute – but he doesn’t even has time to pull himself together, because Kasamatsu’s back, dropping the foil packet of a condom onto the bed and uncapping the bottle of lube.

“Are you okay?” Kasamatsu asks, looking genuinely concerned even as he’s coating his fingers in lube. Ryouta can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, I feel like I’m dying, but I’m fine.”

“Dying?” Kasamatsu echoes, looking more concerned than ever.

“I’ve never been more turned on in my life,” Ryouta tells him. “It physically hurts.”

Kasamatsu rolls his eyes, and somehow even _that_ manages to look sexy to Ryouta.

“Can you just fuck me already?” Ryouta pleads, and Kasamatsu glances back down at him.

“There’s no rush,” he says, his voice low, starting to circle the rim of Ryouta’s ass with a finger. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“It won’t,” Ryouta promises, and then Kasamatsu’s pushing in two of his fingers at once, and Ryouta tips his head back and moans.

Kasamatsu fingers Ryouta like how Ryouta’s seen him play the guitar – with slow, methodical precision. He pushes forward, searching, watching Ryouta’s face the entire time, looking out for the slightest change in his expression. He sees the way Ryouta trembles when he scissors his fingers, and when he drives them in at a precise angle, he doesn’t miss the way Ryouta’s mouth falls open into a perfect ‘o’ either.

“Please,” Ryouta begs, knowing that he’s babbling, incoherent with desire, but not caring at all. “Please, Kasamatsu – _Yukio_ , please fuck me. I need it, god.”

“Say that again,” Kasamatsu says, pushing his fingers in at the exact same angle again.

“Please,” Ryouta sobs. “Yukio.”

Then wordlessly, Kasamatsu’s withdrawing his fingers, and Ryouta whines, clutching at Kasamatsu’s arms.

“Turn over for me,” Kasamatsu says, his voice low and commanding. Ryouta can’t help but comply, leaning on his elbows, ass up in the air. He hears the sound of a foil packet tearing, the click of the lube bottle being uncapped, and then Kasamatsu’s kneeling behind him, hands resting on his hips.

“You good?” Kasamatsu asks, and Ryouta laughs.

“Never been better,” he says honestly.

Kasamatsu huffs, then starts pushing in, going so slow it’s agonizing. Ryouta drops his head, burying his face into the sheets to muffle his groan. It really has been a long time since he’s been fucked, but the burn in his muscles is almost pleasant, like being pushed past his limits to a new and fantastic height. Ryouta can feel every inch of it as Kasamatsu slides all the way in – he’s panting, fingers pressing bruises into Ryouta’s hips, and Ryouta turns his head so he can look at Kasamatsu over his shoulder, to see the look on his face. Kasamatsu’s eyes have fluttered shut, but his lips are parted and he’s flushed all the way down to his chest. He looks so _good_ , and Ryouta finds himself whimpering, “Yukio, kiss me, please,” and Kasamatsu leans down, pressing his lips to Ryouta’s wide-open and hungry mouth as he starts moving, fucking Ryouta in shallow little thrusts, getting him used to the feeling of it. Kasamatsu’s chest is pressed flat to Ryouta’s back, and the kiss is a complete mess because the angle is strange, but it’s the still the best Ryouta’s ever felt in his life, and he wants more, wants to drown in it, never wants to come up for air ever again.

“Harder,” Ryouta begs. “Please, please, want you to make me feel it tomorrow.”

“That mouth of yours,” Kasamatsu mutters.

“You know you love it,” Ryouta says, defiant even in spite of everything. Kasamatsu’s eyes flash, and then he’s cramming two of his fingers into Ryouta’s mouth and fucking him _hard_ , pulling out almost all the way before slamming his cock back in. Ryouta sobs, feeling the bed rattle beneath him from how hard he’s being fucked, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted. He’s surrounded by Kasamatsu, the weight of him, the heat and scent of him – Kasamatsu’s fingers in his mouth, Kasamatsu’s cock in his ass. It feels like they’re joint together, like there isn’t a place where Ryouta ends and Kasamatsu begins, and Ryouta didn’t know you could want someone like this – like submission, like surrender, like finally letting go.

“Yukio,” Ryouta sobs. “Yukio.”

“Yeah,” Kasamatsu gasps.  He grabs Ryouta’s hand, tangling their fingers together.

“Kiss me,” Ryouta says again, and Kasamatsu does, speeding up his thrusts. It doesn’t take long before Ryouta’s wailing into Kasamatsu’s mouth, coming so hard he thinks he sees stars; and when Kasamatsu sinks his teeth into Ryouta’s shoulder, when the rhythm of his hips goes erratic until it finally stops, Ryouta just tightens his grip on Kasamatsu’s hand, and holds on.

-

Afterward, while they’re lying there with the sunshine beaming down onto the beautiful curve of Kasamatsu’s back, while Kasamatsu runs his hand along Ryouta’s side and Ryouta traces the contours of Kasamatsu’s face, Ryouta realizes there’s still one last thing that’s bothering him.

“Those first few weeks,” he murmurs, “you didn’t respond to my flirting at all.”

Kasamatsu’s hand stops abruptly. He looks away, flushing. “Well, it’s just – I wasn’t sure yet, then,” he says.

“You weren’t sure?” Ryouta echoes.

“Like I said, I don’t date much,” Kasamatsu says. His eyes flicker back to Ryouta’s face, and he looks almost shy. “Honestly? I’ve only ever been in two relationships in my life.”

“Oh.” Ryouta blinks, unsure how to react to this information.

“I’m in it for the long haul,” Kasamatsu says, his gaze very serious. “I wasn’t sure then, but I’m sure now.”

“Oh,” Ryouta repeats, his voice very small.

There are a hundred different doubts racing through his head, a hundred thousand different ways he could see this going wrong, but Kasamatsu cups a hand behind Ryouta’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss, and for the first time in a long, long while, Ryouta’s mind finally goes quiet.


	3. Epilogue

_Glory Blue’s Kasamatsu Yukio breaks his silence on his personal life_

By Satsuki Momoi

The Japan Times - Entertaintment News

 

Kasamatsu Yukio, singer-songwriter and frontman of hit indie band Glory Blue, is notoriously tight-lipped about his personal life. Granted, that’s not too much of a challenge for us journalists given how robust his professional life is: starting with their debut EP that took the nation by storm three years ago, Glory Blue has managed to achieve almost fairytale-like success thus far, with two award-winning albums under their belt and one more currently in the works.

But that’s not that I’m here today to talk about. I’ve been invited to Kasamatsu’s apartment for an exclusive interview _specifically_ about his personal life. After all, nothing has captured the imagination of the public more so than the story of how Glory Blue got their big break in the first place: a single viral tweet from Kise Ryouta, international model and Kasamatsu’s current boyfriend, with a link to their EP. The rest, as they say, is history.

I’m greeted at Kasamatsu’s apartment door by none other than Kise himself. He tells me he’ll let Kasamatsu know I’m here, and asks if I’d like something to drink. I decline the offer but ask if Kise would like to join our interview; he laughs and informs me I should tell my boss to pay for the both of them next time.

Kise drops me off in the living room, telling me to make myself at home on their couch. The apartment is a lot more modest than I’d expected, and gives off a warm, welcoming vibe. There are tall windows adorned with sheer curtains and fashionable red brick paneling on the walls. The furniture all looks well-loved, with spots of clutter peppered around the room – a jacket draped over a chair, dog-eared books stacked on the coffee table. It makes the whole place feel lived in. I tell Kise this, and he smiles.

“Well, we’re only here because Yukio forced me to move out of my apartment in Roppongi,” he explains. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he really is an old man at heart. He feels way more at home out here than in the heart of the city.”

I promise not to tell, but I ask if I can print that quote. Kise says yes, then leaves to go fetch the man of the hour from somewhere inside the apartment.

Kasamatsu appears just a few moments later, casually dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. Many interviewers have remarked on his intimidating countenance, and I can see why – he’s brisk and no-nonsense as he walks up to me, shakes my hand, and exchanges quick pleasantries. Kasamatsu settles himself in the armchair across him me, then flashes me a quick smile and says, “Alright. Let’s get started.”

 

 **Interviewer:** Obviously, this interview is going to be very different from any others you’ve conducted in the past. You’ve explicitly told interviewers in the past that you don't talk about your personal life – why the sudden change?

 **Kasamatsu:** Well, the honest answer is that my manager won’t get off my back about it. ( _Laughs_ ) But really, I’ve been adverse about talking about my personal life because I didn’t want it to overshadow my actual career as a musician. I wanted people to know me because of my music, not because of who I was dating. But I’m at a point in my career now where I actually kind of feel decently respected, so I just felt like it was about time I finally broke my silence. But also, the rumors are getting pretty ridiculous these days, so I think it’s probably better if I just set the record straight once and for all.

 **I:** What kind of rumors?

 **K:** Oh, a friend of mine showed me a blog post the other day claiming I was a hustler Ryouta had picked off the street. For the record, I was an accountant before I became a musician. Sorry my life isn’t based on _Pretty Woman_.

 **I:** So how _did_ you at Kise meet?

 **K:** Well… I’ve said in interviewers before that we performed at bars before we signed on to a label. A friend of mine, Moriyama – he owns this bar in Kichijoji, and we’d perform there every Thursday night. Moriyama knew Ryouta too, so one night Ryouta stopped by the bar, and that’s how we met.

 **I:** Were you dating when Kise sent that now-infamous tweet?

 **K:** No, actually – we’d, ah, had an argument of sorts, and we weren’t actually on speaking terms. Wow, that was a really long time ago.

 **I:** But you dedicated that EP to Kise.

 **K:** ( _Laughs)_ Yeah, well, I probably wouldn’t have if I’d known how famous he actually was.

 **I:** You didn't know?

 **K:** No, not at all. I only found out after I saw that tweet of his. I was like – wait, _how_ many followers does he have? And then I went over to his apartment after weaseling his address out of Moriyama, and got attacked by a bunch of photographers. I’m sure you can still find those photos on the internet. I know I have that terrible deer-in-the-headlights look in all of them.

 **I:** But I suppose you and Kise made up from your fight then.

 **K:** Yeah, we did. And we started dating shortly after.

 **I:** How did you feel, waking up and seeing that tweet? It must’ve been bizarre to suddenly have your life change so dramatically in such a short amount of time.

 **K:** Bizarre is putting it lightly. Our band went from a bunch of nobodies with day jobs to a national sensation literally overnight – suddenly we were getting all these calls from record labels, asking if they could represent us. If it weren’t for Ryouta, I don’t think we would’ve ever gotten this far. Our band probably would’ve broken up at some point. Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever imagined I’d be able to make music my full-time career, but, well – here I am. I owe it all to Ryouta.

 **I:** Though you’ve previously made a point of not commenting on your relationship, you and Kise never really tried to hide it either.

 **K:** No, we didn’t. For one, Ryouta is absolutely terrible at keeping things private. But more importantly, I guess we didn’t really think there was anything to hide. I can’t really speak for him, but for me – I’m proud of him, and I’m proud of us. I’ve always tried to be honest about myself, and he’s an important part of my life, so I didn’t want to have to hide it. The songs I write have always been pretty personal. If I’m going to be writing songs about Ryouta, I don't see a point in pretending otherwise. It felt disingenuous – not only to myself, but also to my fans. I guess that’s also why I wanted to do this interview. Even if it was just by omission, it didn’t sit well with me, to feel like I was lying to the public.

 **I:** Would you say that your relationship with Kise serves as inspiration for your music?

 **K:** Yeah, definitely. I mean, everything in my life serves as inspiration to me – everything around me, stories my friends tell me, the news, random articles I find on Facebook. Obviously Ryouta’s going to fit in there somewhere too.

 **I:** Are there any songs you’ve written about him?

 **K:** ( _Laughs_ ) I don’t want to give away too much, but the last track on our EP, the song that it was named for – “11:11” – I wrote that maybe two weeks after I first met him. It came to me almost instantaneously. I got home from the bar that night and said to myself, “I have to write this song.” So I stayed up all night, and by the time the sun was rising I’d had this entire song on my hands, all about this stranger I kept seeing at a bar.

 **I:** That sounds like the perfect topic for a song.

 **K:** Or an indie rom-com.

 **I:** Right.

 **K:** I guess our relationship _has_ felt like something out of a movie sometimes. I mean, not that there aren’t moments that are hard. Ryouta’s always travelling for work, and when I’m on tour I don’t get to see him for a long time either. And our personalities clash terribly. He has habits that drive me up the wall, and I know sometimes I really piss him off. But apart from that things have been going really great – knock on wood. Ryouta says I keep him grounded, and I know without him, my life would be really fucking boring. And like I said, I owe so much to him. I’ll never stop feeling thankful to him, not just for basically kick-starting my career. For everything else, too.

 

As I pack up and get ready to leave, Kise emerges from the hallway to bid goodbye to me. Their dynamic is easy to immediately understand – Kise, smiling and chatty, and Kasamatsu, serious and reticent. But it’s just as easy to see how comfortable they are around each other: Kise loops an arm around Kasamatsu’s waist as they walk me to the door, and to my untrained eye, the movement seems to comes so naturally to the both of them it’s probably safe to say they’ve stood like this many, many times before.

I turn around once as I’m walking down the hallway to the elevator, and I see them still standing together in their doorway. Kise leans down to say something into Kasamatsu’s ear, and when a smile blooms across Kasamatsu’s face, he looks nothing at all like the intimidating figure everyone had warned me about. The moment feels so intimate I feel like I’m intruding on something intensely private, and I turn back around immediately. By the time I get in the elevator, the door to their apartment has been closed; but I can imagine that behind that door, they’re still standing pressed together, as easy and as natural as breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs referenced in this fic: [television / so far so good by rex orange county](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KexXcs_1LPo) and [11:11 by arkells](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzQbI7nhLVY)


End file.
